Forgotten Faces
by Domenic
Summary: Locke has a connection to one of the castaways, but they're both completely unaware of it....


Author's Beginning Notes: Here's my first Lost fic, and it's a one-shot. (I had challenged myself to finish a one-shot in a single day, and this is the result.) This story is set up to the episode "Outlaws," so there'll be spoilers for those who haven't watched Lost up to that point. This idea popped into my head when I was once again considering J.J. Abrams' words saying that the main Lost crew was somehow connected with each other... Anyway, I hope you enjoy this fanfiction, and please leave a review behind; the feedback would be greatly appreciated.

Disclaimer: I don't own Lost.

Forgotten Faces

There were gun shots a couple of houses next door, and John Locke immediately headed outside. As Locke ran, he heard the ear-splitting cries of Emily's little one-year-old daughter Kate, undoubtedly awakened by the shots bursting into the night sky; he wondered how long it would take for Emily to wake up and check on her daughter, then call 911. In retrospect, the bald man supposed he should've called the authorities first, but his impulsiveness had gotten the better of him. As he was getting closer and closer to his destination, Locke saw the lights in other neighbors' houses begin glowing, finally reacting to the noise. Soon, he was there, passing the house's white fence, and finding to his dismay a broken down door, although part of him had expected it.

Cautiously he stepped through the wrecked door, carefully avoiding the brown splinters, his eyes scanning the interior for the shooter or shooters that could still be there. All he found was a little boy and his dead mother. Well, Locke wasn't completely certain that the woman was the boy's mother, but she was certainly dead, a bullet hole centered in her forehead, blood dripping from it and pooling beneath her blonde hair, staining it a sickly crimson. The little boy was on his knees, staring at the woman with the widest and bluest eyes Locke had ever seen, his small hands tightly holding her limp hand in a death-grip, completely unaware that he was now stained in blood, but not just on his hands, but on his head, where from there the sickly crimson even dripped down the side of his face.

Even more cautious, Locke walked toward the boy, desperately trying not to alarm him, as if he were approaching a deer in headlights. He needn't have bothered with the caution; the child was completely oblivious, in a total state of shock. When the bald man finally reached the child, he slowly reached a hand for the boy's bloodied head, pausing and hesitating slightly before finally resting it gently on top of it, quickly noticing that he had blonde hair similar to the dead woman's. The child paid no mind to Locke, continuing to hold the woman's hand, his eyes lessening in size no less. Locke checked the boy's head, but found that the blood wasn't coming from any sustained injury. This relieved the bald man, but made him wonder, until he looked into the open room ahead and saw more deceased inside.

Immediately Locke thought the dead man sitting slouched on the bed was the boy's father, but he was uncertain. But the situation was becoming clearer; the gun lying in the man's loose fingers, the blood pooling from a hole in his own forehead, all screamed suicide, and painted him as the one most likely to have murdered this woman. Unaware that his hand was still placed on the child's head, Locke was finally reminded of it when the boy himself shoved it away, apparently leaving his state of shock behind. The bald man realized that his hands were stained crimson now due to contact with the child, and he found the texture of the blood…interesting. He had never felt anything like it before...

"Mommy told me to hide under the bed," the boy whispered hoarsely, his blue eyes narrowed into a glare at Locke, but they soon returned to the woman, who was without a doubt his mother. However, the eyes did not return to the widened expression Locke had first found him in, and not even into apparent grief, but remained in its glare, though sadness now flickered behind the blue depths. At first, Locke was puzzled by the child's response, but then understanding crashed noisily into his head. The bed…the child had to have been underneath when the man...and when he crawled out, the blood must've... The bald man looked more closely at the child, trying to comprehend the emotions swirling around inside, and failing miserably. He tried to pat the boy on the shoulder in some sort of weak attempt at comfort, but stopped once the child's blue eyes squeezed shut, one lone tear managing to slip out; Locke had expected to see more tears follow, but none came.

"Jesus Christ," someone said in an awed whisper, and Locke looked back to see the cavalry had finally arrived; he turned back to the boy.

"The police are on their way," said the same someone, but Locke didn't pay much mind to the person, only noticing that the someone was a man; he was completely focused on the child. He knew that the question was probably going to sting like Hell, but the bald man's curiosity was getting the better of him, and it was probably better for the boy to face it sooner rather than later.

"Did your Daddy do this?" The child's head snapped toward Locke, his face twisted in rage, but then softened and he bowed his head, numbly nodding. The bald man nodded as well, and time seemed to crawl to a standstill; what was taking the police so damn long? While waiting, Locke didn't move, and neither did the boy, nor did any of the shocked and appalled neighbors. When the screaming sirens finally raced down the street toward them, Locke quietly took the child's hand and led him toward the police, then left him to give his statement.

_Staying with his friend Emily and her little girl Kate while in the South for business, that was the last time John Locke had ever been to Knoxville, Tennessee, and he had never seen the blonde-haired, blue-eyed orphan again, nor did he ever learn what happened to him. _

_That memory had resurfaced in Locke's head when he had left Sawyer and Kate to their boar hunting, while he had been heading back to the hatchway he and Boone had found, wanting to examine it once more. Of course, it had been Kate who had brought the memory up, the name reminding him of his old friend's daughter, although the two girls looked nothing alike; Locke recalled clearly the bright red of little Kate's hair, quite different from the brown, long, curly tresses big Kate sported._

_As he continued toward the hatchway, the boy's blue eyes kept haunting him; he was certain they were trying to tell him something, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it..._

Author's Ending Notes: O.K., I think it's painfully clear to everyone who Locke is connected to. I hope you enjoyed that story and please remember to leave a review behind; I would greatly appreciate the feedback.


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